


The Price of Oblivion

by InkFlavored



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Cultist Tekhartha Zenyatta, Gen, Morally Ambiguous Character, Non-Graphic Violence, Swordsman Genji, everyone in this is Questionable, it's like a combination of fantasy and steampunk, the iris is an eldritch being, there's not tag for that i cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFlavored/pseuds/InkFlavored
Summary: Everything comes with its own cost. A debt paid is another owed. A life lived is a death expected. And a death expected is a plot unearthed. Such is the nature of the world.Saving a city comes with its own costs. As does powerful magic, an omnipotent god, and the voice of a man who has long since forgotten how to speak.





	The Price of Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone reading this is familiar with my previous work, you'll recognize this (a bit) as an extension of my short-fic "Oblivion," that I wrote for Zenyatta Appreciation Week last March. i loved the idea so much i decided to make it EVEN BETTER and EVEN LONGER with a PLOT!! i hope you enjoy!

It was clear, even from outside the city, that Adlersbrunn had long needed a savior. The stone walls were covered in vines and crumbling. The iron gates were rusted and left ajar without a guard in sight, creaking in the gentle wind. The streets were dusty and silent, despite the sun having yet to reach its apex, and the thick, black clouds that the chimneys used to cough into the sky were nowhere to be seen.

All in all, it was a mess. And that was just from the outside.

A shadow of a man moved in the bright afternoon sun. It slipped up to the gates left ajar, and brushed its fingers up and down the rusted metal. Nothing much to be seen, it stepped carefully to the wall, and vanished in the shade. The man the shadow belonged to appeared in its place, peeling himself off the wall and back into the sun.

He cut a very striking figure. From the neck down, he wore a dark robe, cut with deep purple trim, wrapped hastily around his lean, practiced frame, secured with a belt. The skin that was visible was covered in scars, some long, some short, all of them dark, echoing the depth their wounds once held. He wore a wicked sword strapped across his back, and had a shorter blade at his waist. His hands were clenched in fists, occasionally twitching.

From his neck upward, the man’s face was obscured in two ways. The first, by a wide-brimmed cone hat, shading his eyes and covering his head of dark hair. The second, by a metal collar. It covered his mouth and nose, wrapping around his chin, and stopping at his throat. Where the metal met the hollows behind his ears, it dug into his skin, held there with sadistically large bolts.

“Well done, my student,” chimed a smooth voice. “You are mastering the Shadows faster than any of my previous acolytes.”

The man glanced at the dirt road he has walked as a shadow. Behind him there stood a Gear-Walker, a being made of creaking metal joins, tiny vents coughing steam, and pipes dripping oil. The Gear in question was dressed similarly to the man, in deep purples and blacks, and had a face resembling an octopus. It had four tentacles instead of a mouth, all of them moving and writhing independently of their master. But the mouth was hardly its most noticeable feature.

Nine balls of metal hovered around the Gear-Walker’s shoulders and around its neck, and within each of them, there was a green eye. They were revealed by circular glass windows, and flicked back and forth with slit pupils. A pair of thick bracelets around the Gear’s wrists, carved with runes of a forgotten language, glowed the same green as its living jewelry.

The man straightened at the sight of the Gear-Walker, and tipped back his hat. His eyes glowed blood red, and he stared intently at the strange eyes around the Gear’s neck. All nine of them shot around in their prisons to face him, glowing a sickly green.

Through the glow, a solid voice boomed in the Gear-Walker’s mind, despite the outer world remaining silent.

_The city is empty, Master_ , said the man.

“It only _appears_ that way,” the Gear corrected. “If it was truly empty, we would not have been summoned here.”

It stepped toward the gate, easing it open. The rusty hinges creaked and whined as they revealed the city inside, as if warning the travelers away. Such a warning, however, was in vain.

As the Gear and the muted swordsman stepped through the gates into Adlersbrunn, a shambling monster revealed itself from around the corner of a building.

It was another Gear-Walker, but horribly misshapen. Its head was falling of its shoulders, only one arm was attached, and it limped along with half a leg missing. Its middle was torn open, revealing crooked, mangled gears, and it spilled oil like blood. All its vents were clogged, so steam escaped from its mouth in a shuddering mimic of a cough.

“Oh my,” the darkly dressed Gear murmured. If it had a tongue, it would have _tsk-_ ed.

The man eyed the shambling thing hungrily, crouching into an attack position, and drawing the sword on his back from its sheath. He held it in both hands, ready, waiting.

The Gear turned to its silent companion, waving dismissively. “My dear student, if you would be so kind as to dispose of this creature.”

The man’s eyes glowed darkly underneath his hat. _With pleasure, Master._

He dashed forward like he was flying. Two steps took him to the mangled Gear’s place. It swiped at him once, but he dodged easily. He sliced it in half at the waist with a single cut. Its body tumbled to the ground with the excruciating squeal of a metal animal in pain. The man drove the sword into its head, and the sound cut off abruptly.

His hands shook as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He ripped it free of the metallic corpse, and brought the sword down again. And again. And again. He cut the body to pieces, until he was cutting the pieces to pieces. And still he did not stop.

At the gate, the other Gear-Walker sighed and approached the swordsman and clapped, once. An ear-shattering noise split the quiet afternoon, like the crack of thunder. It echoed loud enough to shake nearby buildings, and shatter nearby windows. Instantly, the man froze in place, arms raised for another strike.

“Enough, my student,” the Gear commanded.

The swordsman’s hands grew lax, and the sword clattered to the ground. The Gear picked it up and slid it back into the sheath across its companion’s back. Then, kicking the dismembered metal corpse to the side, it stood in front of the still-frozen man and touched his chest with a single finger.

The man stumbled back, shaking his head like a wet dog, and fell to one knee. The Gear’s grotesque necklace glowed.

_I apologize, Master,_ the man’s voice said. _I forgot myself_. The Gear motioned for the man to stand, which he did, slowly.

“No apology necessary,” the Gear assured him. Then, its tone grew dark. “The magic here should be familiar to you. It reeks of undeath.”

The swordsman’s hands clenched. _We should take to the Lord’s castle at once_.

“Exactly my thoughts. Come.”

The Gear strode past the man and down the rows and rows of rickety wooden houses, standing tall and confident, like one of noble status. The other followed respectfully behind it, head bowed, and hands clasped behind him, a deference long unseen in the Age of Smoke, human or machine. It was a deference of a teacher and student, servant and master, the lesser and the mighty. In any other city, such a pair would be chased out. Except, of course, the cities desperately in need.

The dusty Adlersbrunn streets, normally flushed with the teeming populace, were empty and still. No people, no animals, no Gear-Walkers, no wind, hardly a breath. The city itself seemed to exist in a state outside of time, outside of the living and the dying, an unbreakable purgatory. Doors were half-opened, windows were cracked – if they were there at all – and not a single living soul seemed to exist in the most populated city of the Empire.

At the far end of the city, backed up against the high-standing walls, stood Adlersbrunn Castle, home of city’s lord. It towered high above the city, dark towers with spiked roofs, barred windows, built brick by dark brick, it loomed over the buildings below like a vengeful god. And yet, it crumbled at the sight of any who dared look to close. A keen eye could find cracks in the walls, loose bars hanging uselessly from their bolts, the tiled roof coming undone. It was an old building from an old time, that had no place in the time that was rendering it obsolete.

The Gear-Walker and swordsman approached the castle of the lord, stopping at the wrought iron gate, the seal of the nobleman bent into the center. Harshly opposed to the castle, two guards wearing the lord’s colors stood behind the gate, crossbows on their backs and hand cannons at their waists.

“Halt!” said the left guard, raising her hand in warning as the travelers approached. “What business have you with Lord Wilhelm?”

“My companion and I—” the Gear started.

“Not you, rust bucket,” the guard sneered. “The man. What business have you?”

The swordsman crossed his arms over his chest, his hat tipped low over his face. The guard looked between them warily. The Gear-Walker folded its hands primly.

“That,” it said, “was very rude.” All nine eyes whirled in their metal sockets, rolling madly and glowing a sickly green.

“Wh-what—?” the guard began, but was abruptly cut off by a strangled gasp crawling up her throat as the eyes stopped their swiveling, fixing their slit pupils squarely on her. She scrabbled at her throat, sputtering and choking. The eyes glowed brighter, staring unwaveringly.

The second guard rushed to their companion’s side. “Linette, what’s wrong?”

Linette answered by dropping to her knees, then tipping to the side and falling, her head hitting the stone walkway of the castle with an audible _thud_. A small trickle of blood dripped from one of her nostrils.

Horror painted the face of the second guard, who spun around to face the Gear. The eyes had stopped glowing, returning to their neutral state hovering around its neck.

“What did you do to her?” they whispered.

“I showed her the truth,” the Gear replied, matter-of-factly. Behind it, the swordsman’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh.

“What do you want?”

The Gear-Walker snapped its fingers and a scroll appeared in its hand. It was closed by a dingy red wax seal, marked with the same sigil as the gate. “We were sent here by His Grace, Lord Wilhelm. I do hope you will allow us entrance, so as not to…disappoint him.” The Gear handed the scroll through the bars of the gate.

The guard snatched it with the tips of their fingers, and examined it hastily before handing it back. They didn’t speak a single word as they unhooked the lock from the inside, and pulled the rightmost gate open.

“We do appreciate your hospitality,” the Gear said, striding through the open gate like a prince, the swordsman following at its heels.

The gate clattered shut again, and a series of clicks and sliding metal indicated the lock being reset. The Gear-Walker stopped at the unconscious body of Linette.

“Pity,” it said. “She would have been a remarkable painter.”

The other guard approached like an injured animal. “She’s not dead, is she?”

The Gear faced them indignantly, the eyes around its neck pulsing green. “By the Iris, what do you take me for?”

The guard jumped out of their skin. “S-sorry, I meant no offense. It’s just been hard to trust strange lookin’ Gears around these parts.”

“Well, I think it’s time to change that. Don’t you agree, Alexis?”

“H-how’d you know my name?”

“The Iris teaches many things. For example—” the Gear gestured to Linette “—when she wakes up, comfort her about her recently deceased husband, would you? She’ll have just learned it.” It spun on its heel, facing the doors to the castle. “Among other things.”

The Gear walked away, the swordsman remaining behind. He sized up a paralyzed Alexis, and nodded brusquely before following his master.

Alexis looked between their fallen comrade and the pair of strangers with wide eyes. “Wait!”

The Gear held up a hand and the swordsman halted in his track. “Yes?” it called over its shoulder.

“You didn’t even tell me who you were.”

The Gear-Walker laughed, long and slow. “What a rare question. And a difficult one as well.”

“You don’t have names?”

“I certainly do. As does my apprentice.”

“Can’t you tell me, then?”

“I can, yes. Should I?”

“What?”

The Gear glanced at the swordsman, who shrugged. A mechanical wrist flicked, and a single eye separated from the ring around its neck, hovering slowly through the air, and stopping several inches from Alexis’ face. It glowed. Alexis squeezed their eyes tight…

But nothing happened.

Several moments passed completely uneventfully, and the eye was called back to the Gear-Walker’s neck.

“I see no harm in telling you,” the Gear decided. “We go by many names. However, there are a few that have become the most popular among those we meet. Myself, I am known as the Monk, and my companion as the Swordsman. Simple, though accurate. They are not true names, admittedly. But you shall find you know the truth of our names shortly.”

The Monk and the Swordsman turned from the lone guard. The heavy wooden doors to the castle were hefted open and boomed shut, leaving the front walkway eerily still. Alexis stood over the body of their fallen companion, staring at their boots.

A searing pain carved its way into the front of their mind, like white hot fire tearing them apart from the inside out. They doubled over in pain, and opened their mouth to scream. No sound came out.

The pain, from silence, became meanings. Those meanings became words. Those words became names.

Alexis saw stars and stars and stars, and the deepest, blackest colors. They felt hundreds of years pass in a single second and tasted the truth on their tongue. They felt mind-numbing peace and heart-stopping fear. Those meanings became the name: _Tekhartha Zenyatta._

Alexis saw blood and blood and blood. They felt flesh tearing, and the thrill of the hunt. They felt lust for revenge, for vengeance, for redemption. They felt the cold claws of death and filled their lungs with the warmth of life. Those meanings became the name: _Genji Shimada_.

And it was over. The moment ended and Alexis opened their eyes to find that no time had passed at all. They stood up. The taste of copper coated their mouth and something warm was dripping from their nose. They pressed a finger to their nostril a pulled it away. Blood.  

Alexis looked to the castle doors and wondered.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on tumblr @ livingthedragonlife !! have a nice day <3
> 
> also, opinions: ship, or no ship? i can't decide


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